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Excerpt One:
February 1816
His daughter in his arms, Lord Frederick Danlow stood on the deck of the East Indiaman, his gaze fixed on the receding coastline. Eighteen years away, far longer than he had expected, but the prolonged war with the French had played merry hell with the Company’s shipping between India and England. Besides, he had not envisaged becoming such a family man. He would have been content to grow old in India with Jiya but she had been cruelly taken from him and India had lost its savour.
With their twin sons, now young men of fifteen, suitably placed with the help of their grandfather, they had been surprised but not displeased by the last, unexpected pregnancy and charmed by the gift of a daughter. But within hours of the birth, Jiya had developed a high fever and within a day it was all over. The infant, hastily baptised Ruperta Fredericka Jiya by one of the Company’s chaplains, would have followed as quickly were it not for the quick-witted midwife who seemed to conjure from nowhere a wetnurse to complement the ayahs who had already been engaged in anticipation of the new arrival.
He had numbly played his part in the funeral rites, aware that to his British compatriots the death of an Indian bibi was scarcely worthy of notice and that the survival of a motherless girl child was equally insignificant. For the first time, he thought of returning to Britain with the child. How old should she be before he braved a six-month voyage with her? Able to walk and talk, he thought, and heed instructions at least. That gave him a couple of years to plan; no harm, he supposed, when he considered the preparations needed for a voyage of several months, not to mention the task of unravelling the fabric of his life here.
Ruperta wriggled frantically. “Down, Papa.”
“Only if you hold my hand, sweeting.” Frederick carefully lowered the child to the deck. “Remember, you must never come out here without me or one of the ayahs, and always be careful not to get in the way of the officers or crew.”
As he spoke, someone bellowed an order and seamen ran to the heavy ropes that controlled the sails. He took a last breath of the aromatic air that was already yielding its distinctive spice to the sharper scent of salt and headed for the great roundhouse cabin that he had reserved for the voyage. The exorbitant fee had provided him merely with the bare space, which he must then equip to his liking. Now the wooden floor was spread with soft rugs. The canvas partition that divided the room at night into women’s and men’s quarters had been drawn back but the observer could readily note the two distinct parts, one furnished in the English style, with a sea couch that converted into a sofa for daytime use, a bureau-bookcase and a table and chairs. The other half was scattered with low tables, cushions, and divans that supplied the ayahs with seating during the day and were put together to provide beds at night. Ruperta slept here too, protected by the two ayahs who had cared for her since her birth. Frederick had considered getting a bed for her, but the women had pointed out that in bad weather she would be safer cocooned between them.
The servants were busy unpacking the chests that held the items they would need on the voyage. The bookcase was filled with the mixture of new books and old favourites that Frederick hoped would sustain him during the tedium ahead. Ruperta ran to the chest that contained her playthings. How long would they keep her entertained, he wondered. And what of his fellow-passengers whom he would meet for dinner at the captain’s table? Would he find congenial companions among them? He had heard horror stories of such voyages and hoped they were not the type of hard-drinking rakehell who judged an evening’s success by the number of bottles of wine drained by each reveller. He preferred intelligent, witty conversation in more abstemious company.
~~~
Six months later, Frederick stood again on deck, watching through the rain for the first glimpse of England. The memory of India had faded; the weeks and months at sea forming a strange hiatus between east and west, elusive time spent in an idiosyncratic realm without physical boundaries other than the floating wooden construction which housed several hundred people in close proximity, and which knew neither before nor after, just a shifting now. It had been a dull, wet voyage but, judging by dinner-table conversation, they had been spared the worst terrors of such crossings, encountering storms but not hurricanes and never running out of supplies. Illness and accidents there had been, and he would not forget the barren simplicity of the committal of the dead to the deep.
His worst fears in travelling with a young child had not been realised. In this, he was indebted to Mrs Captain Duggan, a resolute lady returning to England with her three children and her husband. In all there were thirteen English and Anglo-Indian children on board, ranging in age from three to twelve and Mrs Duggan had decreed that they should not lack education.
“If we combine our resources,” she had declared that first evening, “we can keep them instructed and out of mischief for some of the time each day which will allow the ayahs attend to other matters.”
“Is Ruperta not too young for school?” Frederick had asked.
“Nonsense. It will do her good to sit with others and speak English. She’ll never learn if she spends all her time with the ayahs. She can practise her ABC. I have a copy of Mother Goose and perhaps others have some books suitable for children.”
Two other mothers had agreed, and Mrs Duggan had then suggested that the gentlemen be responsible for four older boys who should not forget anything they ever knew while at sea. “They all are to go to school in England and should not be too far behind their classmates.”
The next day, a curriculum was drawn up and students paired with teachers. Frederick found himself taking the two oldest boys in Latin, and starting them in Greek. Lessons were held in the morning. The captain dined in state with the passengers at two o’clock, and the usual post-prandial pursuits of cards, reading, and music-making occupied the time until supper at nine. On the captain’s instructions, all candles were to be snuffed by ten o’clock to cut down the risk of fire.
It was a humdrum existence, he supposed, but restful, and he had got to know his daughter in a way he had never known his sons. Mindful of Mrs Duggan’s comment about the need for her to learn English, and concerned as to how she would adapt to English society after spending her life so far in the Zenana or women’s quarters of his home, he had made a point of spending time with her each day, reading to her and telling her stories.
Now he wondered had he done enough. What would his sister-in-law, the Marchioness of Rickersby, make of her?
When he left England, his father had still been alive and his elder brother a newly betrothed twenty-two. Now George was the marquess, and father of two sons and two daughters. Their sister, Elizabeth, had been married out of the schoolroom to a peer twice her age while Frederick was at Oxford; as a result, he hardly knew her. There were twelve years between him and the youngest child, Henry; they had shared neither nursery nor schoolroom. Well, time enough to get to know him now, he supposed.
He mentally listed his priorities for the next month: ensure that his belongings were landed safely, reacquaint himself with his brothers and sister, make his bow to his sister-in-law, and decide where to establish himself. He must purchase an estate, but had not yet decided where. Come to think of it, England was as foreign to him now as India had been eighteen years ago.
© Catherine Kullmann 2025
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